Space To Breathe, Come Back Fighting
by 2DaughtersOfAthena
Summary: Hermione Granger is tasked with a mission: Find and rescue Fred Weasley. There have been rumours of him being alive for a while, and she knows she must get to him before it is too late and the vigilante Death Eaters bring about a new world of Hell. But what if Fred didn't actually need saving?
1. Chapter 1

**You may recognise this story from my "Series of Short Events" collection. However, since writing a sequel, I thought it would be best if I combined them as one story - one I am considering continuing! Let me know what y'all think!**

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I turn away from Diagon Alley, glancing around quickly to see who is watching. I can't have someone following me down here; it wouldn't look good, and I need to do this alone. My cloak whips tighter in the rush of wind as I pass the sign for Knockturn Alley, its darkness wrapping around me instantly. Even during noon the Alley is filled with shadows that stalk my every move, and figures that chase themselves. The streets churn and turn confusingly. But I know where I'm headed.

"Pickled nails?" an old woman offers me, chin protruding from the hood of her black cloak. I decline with silence, pushing past her and two others down the street, our shoulders bruising as they knock violently into each other. The cobbles wear down my shoes quickly, and it's not long before my feet are aching with the pressure of the stones.

Finally, I reach my destination. Halfway Hotel.

Even the door frame is covered with grime, built up over years of misuse. I thank Merlin for gloves and cross the threshold.

"Need a room?"

The attendant is an old wizard, face tired, hair greasy, disposition disgusting. He wheezes with his words, already reaching for his wand mere centimetres away, and growing tired with the action. I know who he is already. Edgar Bullrick. It was in the file I read two days ago when I began to prepare for the mission. Ninety-four years of age. Was married to Elena Malfoy, but she died young and he never remarried. Sad really, but I feel no care for him in particular. I also know the crimes he has committed.

But I'm not here for him.

"One on the second floor, if possible." He scowls at my audacity and turns away from me, towards the sets of jangling keys behind the desk. With a swish of my wand, his memory is wiped from the last few seconds, and I am already racing up the stairs to where I know they are keeping him.

Room 243. Up two flights of stairs, and across 43 rooms. They blur past as I start to run, heart pounding, blood pumping too quickly through my veins. There's not enough oxygen to breathe, and the walls feel as though they're closing in on me. Fred. Come on, where are you?

Rumours have been circulating for a year. That he's not dead, but taken. Taken half of the whole that is Fred and George Weasley. Last week we got word that it was almost certain, and that the kidnappers were in London, planning something big. It didn't make sense - why would Fred be with them for the plans? Unless he was somehow part of it? Two days ago, I was given the case file by the Order. Find Fred Weasley. Stop whatever they are going to do, no matter what it takes.

Room 243.

I kick in the door, too lazy and too tired to bother with magic right now.

My hood flips over, glaring into the room, challenging all those who may come forward.

"Hermione?"

A flash of red hair in my peripheral, a worried shout - get out! - and a crashing pain on the side of my head.

I'm out like a light.


	2. Chapter 2

**You may recognise this story from my "Series of Short Events" collection. I have finally combined my two stories as chapters and may indeed continue further. The timings are possibly ever so slightly different in this one, but it will be corrected in due course. Thanks all!**

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 _Get out!_

 _I'm out like a light._

Brightness flickers behind my vision, which means I'm waking up. The floor is cold and the air is damp. _Where the hell am I?_ Slowly, uncertainly, I sit up, blinking in the cool glow of the lamp. A jacket of some sort falls from my chest. I recognise the warm scent as Ron's and try to piece together what has happened for me to end up here, in this situation.

The last thing I remember… A flash of red hair, a number - 243, and the words that have hung in my head, " _get out_."

My mission was to find Fred Weasley. There was chatter that the remaining Death Eaters were going to enact some sort of plan, and that, somehow, Fred was involved. I was supposed to extract him before anything could happen. I'd arrived at the place he was being held hostage – Halfway Hotel, room 243 – but it wasn't at all what I had expected. He'd been standing, waiting for something – instruction maybe - wand raised, mimicking the Death Eaters as I crashed open the door.

Why though? _Why?_

Three sharp raps sound on a door I hadn't noticed, followed by a voice bursting my bubble of silence.

"Miss Granger, are you awake?"

"Depends," I respond. "Who is it?"

"Robert, Mission Coordinator. I'm coming in," he announces, appearing to unlock the door. Why I am locked in a room, I have no idea. Surely, I haven't become magically untrustworthy overnight? I was following instructions. Instructions given to me by Robert, no less, who organises our force against vigilante Death Eaters. The force is for those who aren't fully-trained Aurors, but still want to help. People like me.

"What's going on?" I demand, moving to stand up, picking up Ron's jacket with me. "Where am I, and why?"

"Basement of a safe house, fifty miles outside York. Weasley put you here two days ago. We were worried about you – that you might have been so shocked – by the events – but you're fine, so it's fine." He pauses, and I know he's stalling. We would normally be in a safe house, but… Nothing feels quite right. He's skipping on information. "There's something you ought to know."

"Tell me."

"Fred Weasley is upstairs. We've been trying to understand what was going on back at Halfway Hotel, but he only wants to speak to you. Do you have history with him?"

"Of a sort."

My mind flashes back to a time near-forgotten. Almost six years ago now, glittering lakes of Scotland stretching before us, warm summers and cool springs. Stolen moments together, away from the preparations of war – away from those who would mention it being beyond our duty to the cause. The Order would not have been favourable about any new relationships.

But then he was taken in the throes of the battle, while we were surrounded by a cacophony of noise and bright lights. I didn't see him being whipped out of sight. When it was all over, and dawn was striking the sky, he didn't turn up. Harry had pulled out his map, but Fred wasn't anywhere to be seen. _And he never returned_. We thought he was dead until about a year ago.

"What sort? Professional?"

"Does it matter?" I snap, offended by his prying. "So, he wants to speak to me?"

"And you alone."

 _Why, though?_ That is the key question, with the answer resting just out of reach. Why would Fred want to speak to _only_ me? Does that mean he's not innocent? Merlin. Every question I ask seems to unlock about a hundred more. How the hell could Fred Weasley suddenly be in our captivity? Because that's what this is, right? We've surely taken him as a hostage of sorts, trying to understand why he would possibly side with Death Eaters. Because he had looked as though he was ready to fight with them, and not at all like he was their bait or bargaining chip.

I glance down at the jacket in my twisting, anxious hands.

"Where's Ron?"

"Back with his Auror segment up North. He only came at special request." Another question rises in my mind, but I push it down. There are more important things to wonder than whether Ronald Weasley came here for me, or for his brother. As much as I love Ron, I don't see him as emphatically romantic. He's all courage and bravery, and life is about family and trust. Ron and I didn't bother trying to make things work romantically – and my heart was set on someone else, anyway. He joined the Auror program, and I went back to Hogwarts in hopes of moving higher up in the Ministry. A resurgence in vigilante groups and street chatter brought me to Robert. "I told him before you even went in that things might have gone sour. I just didn't expect…"

"None of us did," I assure him. Wiping a hand over my face, I set Ron's jacket down resolutely, attempting to mentally prepare myself for whatever is coming. "Alright, show me where he is."

Fred is sitting in the middle of the living room, red head dipped down and facing the threadbare carpet. He's the smattering of colour in a world that has been grey and black for a while. But I know this conversation isn't going to be easy, because he wanted to speak to me. Only to me. Why would he do that if he were innocent? God, this is really screwing with my head.

At the sound of my footsteps, he twitches ever so slightly. An acknowledgement of my presence, or perhaps something he picked up being surrounded by Death Eaters. Robert hangs back by the door for a second. Unwillingly, hating myself, hating the situation, I feel fear rear its ugly head. I take a step into the room, not quite sure what to say. The floorboard creaks, and Fred moves again. Closer, I see that his shoulders are shaking, shivering, as though he is cold. Around me, I notice other volunteers raising their wands. Like there is something to fear in Fred Weasley. Ludicrous, it seems. Yet, I don't doubt that there could be...

Rain streams down onto the window panes, making no sound. Everything is drenched in silence.

"I only want to speak to her."

Surprise hits me like a crashing wave. He sounds like Fred. I'm not entirely sure what I expected – whether he would bitter to match the salty air, or silent like the atmosphere.

"Fred, it _is_ me," I utter, feeling almost intrusive to the quiet, taking another step. Closer, I see his hands are resting easily on the arms of the kitchen chair someone has dragged through. Without making a sound, I conjure another chair and set it opposite him on the carpet, in the middle of the room. Fred doesn't say a word in response. "Okay, everyone else out."

They leave, wary.

Five long seconds.

"You want to tell me what this is about?" I demand. "The secrecy, you with the Death Eaters? What's going on, Fred? Merlin. Please, explain."

"It's good to see you."

"I don't _care_." My voice breaks, and I hate myself for it. "Tell me everything."

He seems to deflate before me. The whole exchange seems to have been stupidly emotional over a very short amount of time, and I wonder how the rest of this talk is going to go. Fred moves, slowly, not getting up, but bringing his hands over his face in frustration. I know that look. I may be asking for answers, but I think that, perhaps, he doesn't have the answers we would have been expecting.

"What do you want to know?" he asks.

"Are you a Death Eater?"

The question bursts from my lips, and I realise how desperate I am to know of his betrayal. Whether it was true – whether I could count on him, if it came to it. Desperate to find out really what had gone on to make him be around them, in that room, when I had thought I was _rescuing_ him.

"Is there not something easier you could ask?" he laughs. I glare. "I know - not funny. It's just one of the more complicated questions." I stare back at him, beyond confused. _How can that be a difficult question?_

"Fine." I think for a second. "Would you have killed me, if the Aurors hadn't have intervened?"

"Easy. No."

"We lost you at the battle. Everyone thought you had died. Where did you go?"

Fred leans back in his seat. Obviously, this question is a difficult one as well, otherwise he would have answered just as instantly as before. Instead, he contemplates his response. It's a horrible feeling, thinking that he is censoring the words he has to say to me. It's worse to wonder _why_ he has to censor them. "I think they thought I would be a good bargaining chip. Someone took me – maybe Johnny, or Amelia." My heart clenches at the familiarity he has with the names, as though they have since become friends. "They brought me out to the country, to a weird old hideout. There were Death Eaters everywhere, as if waiting for the Dark Lord's second wave of destruction." He smiles. "They didn't expect him to die."

"What happened when he did die? When they heard he had been defeated?"

"It's a bit of a blur. I'd been spelled, and I can't quite remember exactly went down –"

"Come _on,_ Fred, that's not good enough!" I shout, standing in frustration. How the hell could he not remember? I need him to remember the specifics. "If you're going to lie, I'm going to use Veritaserum."

He sighs heavily, "I'm not lying. I want redemption, for all of those awful things I did."

Two things immediately strike me about that sentence. The first, his request and search for redemption. Interesting, especially as Death Eaters don't naturally have a penchant for redemption, simply want to pretend they can do good for the Ministry, while silently supporting the Darkness. Yet, Fred is from the Weasley family, who are a pureblood, but listed blood traitor, family. He wouldn't support the idea of blood purity, surely? The second, the awful things he did. _What the hell did he do?_

"What happened next?"

"There were arguments, talks about an uprising. Waiting for the precise moment when they could rise up," he starts. "Groups have been banding together for the last few years. People I don't recognise or recognise the names of. Foreigners, maybe. Regardless, it's people; numbers. They were planning something big, but then you came in…"

"And where were you in all of this?"

"Can I have a drink?"

His change of tact is not at all encouraging. Nevertheless, I'm tired of watching his facial movements for the moment, so I move away to the sink on the far side of the strangely circular room. The water is fast and hot, an obtrusive sound in our enveloping awkwardness. _Voldemort is building an army from beyond the grave_. Does that mean that there's a leader? Who's guiding them? Most of the prominent Death Eaters were killed in the battle or captured in Azkaban. Was there a back-up plan?

I hand him the glass of water gently. Our fingers brush. He takes a sip, shivering again. The room is not cold, but I understand.

"Where were you while Voldemort's forces were building?" I ask again, slipping the bottle of veritaserum in my pocket discreetly. "Were you helping?"

"Yes."

" _Why_ , Fred?"

He gulps at the water, steeling for time, not knowing that he is only worsening things for himself. "They threatened me, you, my entire family. They took me to their strange hideout and forced me to help them, otherwise they would take out everyone I love first." He skips over the explanation of his love, for me included. "I didn't want to, but then I had to - _did you feed me Veritaserum_?"

"Not a fan of telling the truth?" My voice is ice cold. He obviously didn't intend on being honest. "Let's find out exactly how deep your betrayal runs."

With a sudden whirling of my wand, bonds are wrapped around his wrists and ankles.

"You think I'm a traitor," he states a little sadly. I don't need to nod for him to know that he's correct. "I don't want you to think that. I tried so hard to fit in with them, to make sure you weren't in any danger. I did… So much wrong." Fred struggles with the last sentence.

"What did you do?" My voice is small, quiet, arms now covered in gooseflesh.

" _I killed people_! I killed, and I tortured, and I hurt people. I disrupted Order missions, I betrayed all of you over, and over, again," he cries, furious with himself, unable to keep the truth within. "I did exactly what all of the other Death Eaters did. Everything they told me to do, I did it. Everything I fought against for so long, I did it. All of it. I _killed_ people, Hermione."

I turn away, feeling sick.

"You don't want to know why?" he demands, almost maniacal, half-laughing. "Why I did all this shit?" _Don't look at him, don't turn around, Hermione_. "Because it was the only way to protect everyone."

"There are better fucking ways to protect people, Fred," I curse, even though I know he's telling the truth. He's got Veritaserum in him, so he physically cannot lie. His betrayal is raw, and awful, and he's speaking the way a guilty man does more than ever. Doing bad things to protect us – it's so movie-villain that I can hardly bear it. "What are you hoping to get from this? From speaking to me, and not to Robert, or the others?"

" _Redemption_."

He breathes the word as though is it sacred.

Perhaps it is.

Fred settles a little more into his chair but breathing heavily. I can't quite get my head around all of this. Why would telling me make a difference to his path of redemption – which is ridiculous, by the way. He has nothing to prove to me, does he? We had moments together, but I can't be _in love_ with a Death Eater. It's not right, and I… I just can't do that. He can't have… He can't be redeemed by me. How the hell am I supposed to tell the others?

I move away from him, stunned into silence. _Fuck_. A million questions float around my mind, but none of them seem shockingly significant enough to ask out loud. They're all important. Maybe I should have expected this. How could I have done? Fuck.

My voice is smaller than ever when I ask, "Why me?"

"You know why."

"Either my Veritaserum is faulty, or you're so full of shit that it blocks the truth," I murmur, without the same fiery punch as before. Suddenly dejected, I gulp at an open bottle of firewhiskey and return to the seat opposite him. "Fred, you're with us. You don't need to protect Death Eaters or protect us by favouring them. The only way to atone for your really fucking stupid mistakes is by the truth. Otherwise, it's a pointless forgiveness."

He nods. "Yeah, it's just… I've been gone so long, so much has happened."

"So, what?"

"Do you still love me?"

I start counting to ten, furious, aching, horrified. It's a perfectly good method to calming down.

One. Two. Three. My heart starts again.

Four. Five. I blink.

Six. Seven. Eight. He's staring back at me.

Nine. _How could he ask that?_

Ten. I look down at my hands.

"That's a very unfair question," I tell him. Strangely, he doesn't respond, waiting. I'm thankful "I haven't thought about things like that since you disappeared." A lie. "Fred, I don't like you right now, maybe I won't like you again. And I can't ignore or change feelings I've had for you for so long. But those feelings will not make everything you've done better. You betrayed us –"

"To protect you –"

"It doesn't matter."

"I'm unredeemable?" I close my eyes, aching. He persists, however. "Might as well go back to the fucking Death Eaters." And his laugh is so sudden and forced that I'm afraid he will cry instead. "It fucking sucks. Everything I did. _Everything_. It wasn't a choice to start with. Torture the mother or let your own mother die. Tell us this or your twin is next to go. And I saw what they could do – the power of them." He twists his mouth and I know he's upset. It takes a moment for him to calm again. "They gave me two shitty options. If I helped them, they wouldn't touch any of you."

"At what cost, Fred?"

He stays silent.

"It's dark outside," I note. "I'm going to send an owl to George. No doubt he's going crazy – Ron probably hasn't even told him how it all went down."

Painfully, I stand. Fred looks up at me, desperate.

"I don't want to see him."

This is how I know that the Veritaserum has worn off.

George may be the only one who can offer him what he wants: forgiveness and redemption.


End file.
